womanist
1. FROM WOMANISH. (Opp. of “girlish,” i.e., frivolous, irresponsible, not serious.) A black feminist or feminist of color. From the black folk expression of mothers to female children, “You acting womanish,” i.e., like a woman. Usually referring to outrageous, audacious, courageous or willful behavior. Wanting to know more and in greater depth than is considered “good” for one. Interested in grown-up doings. Acting grown up. Being grown up. Interchangeable with another black folk expression: “You trying to be grown.” Responsible. In charge. Serious.
The subtitle of this text is “Womanist Prose.” The author commences by establishing at the outset what “womanist prose” means by offering as the opening words of the book a definition of the meaning of this not exactly familiar term. One may well be familiar enough with similar terms like racist or sexist or, especially, feminist to drawn a connotative parallel, but that is hardly required, thanks to the author. Any misinterpretation of the exact and precise meaning of “womanist” from this point forward has no one to blame but oneself. Keep in mind that this is just the first of four different definitions with the last being simply:
“Womanist is to feminist as purple to lavender.”
Langston Hughes wrote in his autobiography that when he was sad, he wrote his best poems. When he was happy, he didn’t write anything. This is true of me, where poems are concerned. When I am happy (or neither happy nor sad), I write essays, short stories, and novels. Poems—even happy ones—emerge from an accumulation of sadness….
There is a myth that every artist creates best when they are beset by the dark side of depression or life just hands them lemons. It is only partially a myth, of course, because it is actually true in many cases. But not every case. Some artists thrive when things are going well, just like everyone else. But this book turns to many artists for inspiration who fit the mythic mold. One can hardly deny the value of the advice being given when those names include Langston Hughes, but impressionable readers should not confuse the necessity of others with that of themselves.
“Society makes our existence wretchedly difficult at times, hence our impotence and the imperfection of our work.
… I myself am suffering under an absolute lack of models.”
The poster boy for the artist who seems to have thrived under the pressures of depression and darkness is, of course, Vincent Van Gogh. The author goes on to restate one of the most inexplicable truths in history: Van Gogh sold just one single painting during his lifetime. He would, legendarily, go on to become one the most iconic figures in the history of art and it is practically impossible to spend a day shopping without seeing a reproduction of his work in some form or another. What is interesting in this context, however, is that the title of the chapter in which this quote from a letter Van Gogh to a fellow member of the Impressionist movement appears is “SAVING THE LIFE THAT IS YOUR OWN: THE IMPORTANCE OF MODELS IN THE ARTIST’S LIFE.” The chapter is about artists having models who can reaffirm their weirdness, their commitment, their desire, their talent, etc. The strange thing, however, is that had Van Gogh himself—who is at this point, naturally, the role model rather than the struggling artist—benefited from a role model, perhaps his artistic vision would gone in another direction.
